Whispers
by Flawed Bandit
Summary: Ignot prefers to confide in the dead than bother himself with the living.
1. Whispers

**Whispers**  
 _A Champions: Return to Arms Fanfic_  
 _By Taylor Schell_  
 _Rating: PG-13 (for use of dark magic and talking to spirits)_  
 _Character(s): Ignot, Spirits_

* * *

The sound of bones and leather sliding across scales was one of few sounds heard in the subsurface cave. The Shaman stalked on silently through the darkness, his claws and tail dragging over the ground. On and off, his forked tongue flicked in and out of his mouth as he scented the air. The cave was musty, but had no unnatural scents but his own and the herbs he had in one of its many 'rooms'. It was like a maze once one entered the cave's first fork-but the Shaman didn't need to know his directions.

He listened to the whispers heard only by himself. They guided him on through the darkness. Ignot never found himself lost because of them.

He was a solitary Iksar who tended to avoid Firiona Vie's other Champions. He didn't trust them; not with so many choosing to side with the damned Prince of Hate as of late. Firiona wasn't always approving of that choice; the realms were dangerous to traverse alone, after all. If his kind had the ability to feel humor, Ignot would've laughed. Alone? He was never truly alone-he had spirits to keep him company. They were always whispering to him; he could use them to physically enhance himself, or to aid him in battle.

Ignot uttered something quietly in an eerie tongue and held up one hand. Purple flames erupted to life there, allowing the lizard-man to see through the darkness. He'd reached his main 'room' in the cave; all he needed was to light the candelabra placed on the center of a stone table. A flick of his wrist was all it too for the flames to transfer from his hand to the candelabra; the purple changing to a soft orange and lighting up the room.

Scrolls were piled in differing crates; as were bones, potions, and armor pieces. From his back, Ignot removed his hammer-the thud that occurred when he placed it in a corner echoed throughout the room and into the cave beyond.

He still listened carefully to the whispers surrounding him as he crouched at the stone table. Reptilian eyes closed and the Iksar breathed slowly, simply listening. He had no trouble distinguishing the voices, nor what they said. Some of them he was familiar with, as they followed him everywhere; such as Tagar and the Badger. They were both old spirits, and ones Ignot had summoned the first time simply by mistake. That had been when he was young, and thought magic-no matter how dark-was just a game. They'd become spiritually bound to the Shaman. When he'd been young, he'd thought their whispers would drive him to insanity.

Now, they'd saved his hide more often than he could count.

Ignot listened to their words, his tail swaying slowly behind him to keep him balanced as he crouched, perched on his toes. He uttered something in the strange tongue once more and was shrouded in a purple glow. The whispers raised in volume and became clearer, far easier to make out. One voice reminded him that Firiona was expecting a report soon on his progress through the realms. Another spoke of the Vah Shir and High Elf who had requested aid in the Plane of Fire. That one, he brushed off; the pair was still weak. If they'd been foolish enough to choose to face one of Norrath's most dangerous realms, Ignot would let them burn.

Tagar reminded the Shaman he needed more Gate Scrolls soon, or he'd have to find other means to return to the Plane of Tranquility. Mithanial Marr was growing impatient; a younger spirit brought that up, and it was yet another thing Ignot brushed off. He would work in his own time; not when the ever-impatient Mithanial wanted him to.

The spell was cut off after the Iksar had listened to what he needed to, and the voices dulled back down to whispers; the purple glow faded from his form.

Ignot stood back to his full height. A quick spell snuffed the candelabra's flames and he turned to leave the room-the voices once more guiding him. Ignot would give himself some rest, and then return to the Plane of Tranquility to give his report. Afterward, he would simply follow the whispers.

* * *

 **AN:** I tried searching some RtA stuff, and I'm surprised at how little fanart/fiction there is for Champions. I may just have to change that...

Meet Ignot. He's my character in the Action-RPG/Hack-and-Slash game Champions: Return to Arms. He's an Iksar Shaman (lizard-man that uses spirits for his attacks) and...well...why not give him a story? I kinda want to see where it will go-this's just a one-shot, but I might just have to make a story for him.

From the "Whispers" prompt by MyMidnightLove on Deviantart.


	2. Is This a Dream?

**Is This a Dream?**  
 _A Champions: Return to Arms Fanfic_  
 _By Taylor Schell_  
 _Rating: PG_  
 _Character(s): Matyl, Rikkten, Ignot_

* * *

One minute he'd been back-to back with the Vah Shir, so close that he could _feel_ the Berserker's labored breaths and throaty growls. He'd felt Rikkten's tail bumping against his legs from time to time, heard the puma's fangs snapping. Yeah. They'd made a huge mistake. They were out of Gate Scrolls, Rikkten had barely any magic, while Matyl didn't have the energy to keep using his own.

Not that it was going to help much. For the most part? Matyl's magic was most affective against the undead. The Plain of Fire...these creatures weren't undead. He'd already used his Healing spells more times than he could keep track of. Sure, his Convert spell had helped them out a little-but the enemies he used it on fell so much faster when they attacked their own comrades. He'd known it was over as soon as they were surrounded.

Matyl wasn't sure whether it was fortunate or _un_ fortunate that Vah Shirs were naturally stubborn and refused to fall. All they did was delay the inevitable.

They were going to die before they even gave Firiona their first report. That damn Iksar had been right: they were fools for going to the Plane of Fire when they clearly weren't strong enough yet.

Eventually, the enemy had swarmed them. Not even the Berserker's powerful, swinging broadsword kept them back any longer. Another arrow whizzed past Matyl's head-he'd heard Rikkten grunt when it grazed the big cat's shoulder, cutting through leather armor and bruising flesh as chainmail was pushed against it.

It hadn't taken long before they'd been overrun. The High Elf felt an arrow embed itself in his thigh just as he and Rikkten were separated; grunting and grinding his teeth together as blood started to soak through his leggings. He could hear the panther growling and continuing to fight; throwing sharp axes and swinging his heavy blade between tosses. Matyl kept his own weapon poised and shield raised to protect his abdomen as he limped backward. He felt foolish for choosing to bring his Dawnfire to this realm as his only weapon; its added fire damage did _nothing_ to the creatures here. He was sure that if they hadn't been fighting, he'd have been laughed at.

"Someone help us..." he'd pleaded as he continued to swing his weapon and utter any spells he still had the energy for.

Something heavy slammed against the Elf's shield. He could hear something in his arm snapping as the rounded metal slammed against his chest. It knocked the wind out of him so he was left sprawled on the rocky ground gasping for breath.

He couldn't move his left arm, and he'd dropped his Dawnfire after hitting the ground. He had no idea where Rikkten was-if...the Vah Shir was still even standing.

Matyl looked up, still struggling for breath. The club raised above him glowed a soft orange with the light of the fires on all sides.

He didn't dare even flinch, and then all went black.

. . . . . .

Ignot shuffled back and forth over the stone floor-moving objects and checking on his... _patients_. He'd told himself he wouldn't help these fools. They chose to go where they shouldn't have. That wasn't _his_ fault.

The Shaman huffed and lashed his tail. "I hope you are happy..." he hissed into empty air. The response came in a series of whispers that made the reptile snort. He glanced away from the larger of the two when the elf groaned. He moved to stand over the male Cleric, head tipped slightly and eyes narrowed.

He could tell by the blank look in the High Elf's eyes when they opened that his vision was probably blurred. Ignot had done his best in healing their wounds, but he still wasn't sure if the elf had suffered any brain injuries from the blow he'd gotten to the head. He shook his own head and turned back to the Vah Shir. He was more worried about the big male who could actually put up a good fight.

The Shaman snapped his clawed fingers by the Berserker's ear-when he was satisfied with the reaction he nodded and turned back to the High Elf. He repeated the same process until the puma was the first to actually sit up after opening his eyes.

The Vah Shir's tail lashed behind him and lip curled when he caught sight of the reptile. Ignot's lack of reaction only seemed to agitate the feline even more. The puma hissed, and then growled-still, the Iksar didn't do much more than cross his arms.

"Are you finished?" The feline grunted, and the reptile copied the action. "You asked me for my help. I gave it to you. That is your thanks?" Ignot didn't wait for a reply and spun back around to look over the elf again. He placed a hand on the young male's forehead despite a threatening growl from the Vah Shir. His magic had healed the wound on the Cleric's head caused by the club, but...-ah.

The elf flinched away from the touch and blinked rapidly. Ignot uttered a weak healing spell to help with any leftover damages, then helped the young elf to sit up. He then stepped back and looked from the puma, to the elf.

He heard the whispers of the cave's spirits-and those bound to him-and gave a slight nod before speaking. The first thing he said was...

"You are both idiots."

The Vah Shir's ears pricked and he snapped to attention, gold eyes narrowed. The High Elf just looked on groggily.

"You asked for my help. I gave it. However, I had warned you not to visit the realm you so chose. You are both new Champions. Both still weak," the Berserker growled at that, "and have much to learn."

Ignot walked about the room and collected the pairs breastplates, gauntlets, helmets, and weapons, then deposited them upon the ground between them both.

"Unfortunately," and his tail lashed to add to the word, "I was forced to bind you to myself in order to transport you here. Until that Bind wears, we will be forced to work with each other through the realms or simply remain here."

The High Elf was suddenly wide awake and groaned loudly. It was common knowledge through Norrath that Bindings took a while to wear off-especially if they were cast by Dark Elves or Iksar, which were the strongest magic-casters in Norrath.

The Shaman tucked one arm behind himself and the other across his abdomen, and then bowed deeply in the traditional Iksar fashion. "I am Ignot. Iksar Shaman and Champion to Firiona Vie."

"Is this a dream?" the elf finally asked. "I mean, come on! I don't want even a _temporary_ Bind to a damn lizard! You're all the same: cold-blooded and selfish."

Ignot's lip curled to the derogatory term regarding his species. Iksars hated being called simply 'lizards'.

The puma's tail hit the ground once. "Nothing to do 'bout it. Just gotta wait it out." His attention turned to the reptile, and one fist pounded against his currently bare chest. "I am Rikkten. Vah Shir Berserker an' Champion to Firiona Vie." True to species, Ignot noted, the feline's grammar was poor. But he at least gave the proper Champion greeting.

The elf sighed and finally gave his own version of a bow-though it was awkward because he was still sitting on the ground. "I am Matyl. Champion to Firiona Vie. ...ah...High Elf Cleric."

Clearly, Matyl hadn't rehearsed his greeting.

* * *

Pronunciations:

Rikkten = RICK-tehn

Matyl = mah-TILL

Ignot = igg-NOT


End file.
